


Trial Scars

by Aspire_to_Inspire



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Blade of Marmora Trials, Episode: s02e08 The Blade of Marmora, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Paladins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-11-21 07:01:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18138953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aspire_to_Inspire/pseuds/Aspire_to_Inspire
Summary: Keith recovers from the Trials of Marmora, struggling with physical and emotional wounds alike, while Shiro tracks down Kolivan and demands a more satisfactory explanation for the reasoning behind the trials themselves.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Most of us fans agree we were robbed by the Trials' lack of follow-up in the show. Here's my attempt to fill the void, particularly when it comes to explaining just *how* the test was supposed to work in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of us fans agree we were robbed by the Trials' lack of follow-up in the show. Here's my attempt to fill the void, particularly when it comes to explaining just *how* the test was supposed to work in the first place.

Keith sits on the edge of his bed, still in his paladin armor. The idea of tipping sideways and passing out is tempting, but he knows neither his wounds nor his empty stomach will thank him for it later. The idea of any kind of movement, however, is equally daunting. For once, the Galra blade is not in his hands or under his pillow. It hangs in its sheath alongside his jacket, its handle unwrapped. No reason to hide it now.

At the Blade's headquarters, after he ensured Red was calmed down, he did what he could to staunch the bleeding in his shoulder after he peeled off the Galra suit, but aside from that all he could do was quickly rinse the sweat and a few drops of tacky blood from his face, conceal the rest of the damage under his armor, and hope that he looked well enough that the Galra wouldn't sneer, Shiro wouldn't worry, and the others wouldn't notice.

Those last two were a pipe dream, and he knew it.

Shiro looked at him in apology for a full ten seconds before telling the others that Keith needed the infirmary. Keith didn't care; they already knew Red had attacked the base, and it wasn't like he'd been able to wash off his bruises. But as Allura and Coran led the delegation to the bridge, he blithely told the other three he would catch up, and walked away as briskly as he could manage, communicating that his injuries, as far as they knew, were too minor to require help. Shiro caught his arm, and Keith had to quickly bite back a yelp; that was the arm Antok had twisted less than an inch shy of breaking—he probably could have snapped it right off without half meaning to. Keith shrugged out of Shiro's far more friendly grip.

“They're already wary of the Galra without them seeing any of...this,” he whispered, gesturing vaguely at himself. “And they need you in there more than anyone. Besides, you know how well I can work a first aid kit.”

But he only made a pit stop in the med bay to grab some painkillers and bandages, then headed to the shower; there wasn't time to be coddling himself over getting knocked around. He stepped under the cold spray, hoping it would lift the dizzy fog in his pounding head that had him bracing one hand against the wall to stay upright. The water stung his many cuts, and his bruises and muscles complained as he adjusted himself to the pain of regular movement before he would have to pretend in front of the others. In hardly a minute, he was back out again, gritting his teeth as he dried off and tossed the towel, now spotted with blood. Then he swallowed three pills, bandaged his shoulder properly, armored up, and headed for the bridge.

Now, he pays for it by sitting alone in his room, too tired to care for himself much further. Eventually, he gets his aching arms to move, starting small and easy with his gauntlets, then moving on to the breastplate, and eventually sliding the black suit off his arms and down to his waist. He takes a break there, reaching to dig out the box he's hidden in a compartment under his bed. It's an old habit for him to squirrel away medical stuff, one that he continued here, where he wanted to look after his injuries in peace without getting teased by Lance or scolded by Allura or given that Worried Dad look from Shiro. He hates when people think he's weak when he isn't, and hates it a lot more when they think he's weak and he is.

He pulls out a tube of gel that he's discovered is a miracle worker on bruises, but there's not nearly enough, so he just applies it to the worst of them on his torso, and then to the ones on his face so the others won't bother him so much. He'll wear his jacket until he can get more.

He fishes out a bottle of pills and dumps it into his hand. It's a catch-all for different meds he's pilfered, but he's already memorized their shapes and colors, so it's easy to pick out the one he needs: a pill that specifically targets damage to the brain, including concussions. It won't heal it, exactly, but it should make it safe for him to sleep.

When he convinces himself to stand up to free his legs, a massive swell of vertigo makes him sway. He clumsily yanks his second boot off too hard, sending a white-hot jolt through his wounded shoulder and worsening the dizziness until suddenly he's on the floor in just his boxers, groaning at the lingering pain of impact. He gives himself a moment to lie there, clasping his shoulder as both the wound and the joint throb with nauseating intensity. That first Blade had stopped just short of dislocating it to keep him on the ground, sword at his throat. It had all been so clinical. They hadn't held back, nor gone all out. They'd hurt him exactly as much as they'd meant to. Somehow, the fact that it was all so deliberate and controlled makes it worse.

The pain isn't fading. Keith starts to wonder if he'll need to use a pod after all. He has to force himself to consider it; the last thing he wants is to step inside that machine and have whoever's putting him in watch as the display labels him a human/Galra hybrid.

Telling the others was exactly what he'd imagined it would be. Kolivan had just finished briefing Allura on the resources and numbers of the Blade of Marmora, and Keith's arrival served as a (in)convenient segue to the topic of why he was beat up and why the Red lion had attacked.

As the others struggled through their initial outrage and confusion to swallow the idea of one of their paladins getting pummeled by their new allies, Keith distanced himself from the situation by predicting how each of them would react when the real bombshell hit. Keith wasn't very good at emotions, but he'd had ample opportunity to study negative reactions, particularly back at the Garrison.

Hunk would be the nice one, stuttering something kind to hide his unease.

“ _Oh, um, you can't come? Detention again? That's fine, it, uh, probably wasn't your kind of thing anyway.”_

Pidge would be the apathetic one, feigning impartial and, in her case, scientific, interest, and hiding anything deeper.

“ _What are you in for this time? You punched that guy? What for?”_

Lance would be the point-and-laugh, saying something funny to sweep the whole thing aside.

“ _Ha! So you're some vigilante now, beating up bullies? His friends are totally gong to mess you up for that, Mullet Man.”_

Allura would be the radical disappointment, her hurt at Keith's failing forcing her to explode in something that would resemble anger.

“ _Not_ _ **one day**_ _you're out of detention, and you're already picking fights with him_ _ **and**_ _his friends? I just don't know how else to get through to you, Cadet!”_

Coran would be the reserved sadness, looking at Keith like his existence is a tragedy.

“ _Keith, it doesn't matter if they started it. Don't you see that you could be so much more if you'd just stop fighting?”_

Keith nailed his predictions for the most part; Lance was a bit too flabbergasted to be very funny (instead he simply blurted, “Is _that_ why you're so bad at being a person?”), and Allura held her tongue better than he anticipated, though he could sense the sharp withdrawal of her trust. But Keith is dismal at figuring out what people feel _behind_ their reactions. Logically, with Shiro and Red on his side, there isn't much danger of getting kicked out, but he can see visions of glares at his back, silence falling when he enters a room, voices laced with fear or derision. Or maybe contentious smirks, no one noticing when he leaves, casual slights and slurs that go unchallenged.

He should know better than to believe that, but by now abandonment is muscle memory.

Speaking of muscles, Keith forces his to work enough to at least get his back against the bed, legs stretched out in front of him. He's got more cuts than he realized, some of them still weeping blood. He meant to bandage them, but he's so tired, and he doesn't have enough gauze in his stash, and besides, they all look... _relatively_ minor. And he's pretty sure that his ribs only hurt because they're bruised..right? He runs his fingers over them, testing until--

He hisses, just managing not to shout. Okay, so maybe at least one of them is broken. Honestly, he's not willing to investigate further. He groans miserably; he's had broken ribs before, and they make doing absolutely anything hurt like crazy until they eventually heal. And he can't afford that, especially not now that they're so close to defeating Zarkon. He'll have to get in a pod.

But his body is through taking his orders after he's forced it to take a long, drawn-out beating, to fight warriors twice his size and skill level, to pilot Red between two black holes and a star, then stand for hours without betraying his wounds. His head isn't helping, the way it thrums with deep pain that makes his empty stomach turn. He's not sure if it's because of the blows, the weird hallucinations, or just the fact that he hasn't slept, but he knows the last one is about to be put right, whether he wants it to or not. He fumbles for the blankets and tugs them off the bed with slow, clumsy movements, managing to cocoon himself before collapsing on his side.

Thought flees him immediately.


	2. Chapter 2

“Kolivan!”

The Galran leader turns from his subordinates as Shiro approaches, walking fast to equal their long strides.

“I understand that there are preparations to be made, but would you let me have a word with you?” He chooses his words carefully, aiming for respect and diplomacy. After their long meeting to plan what will hopefully prove to be the downfall of Zarkon, Shiro has warmed to Kolivan's leadership style, and is relieved that Voltron at last has a real ally.

But none of that quite banishes the edge from his voice, an edge that Kolivan appears to not only detect, but interpret with ease.

“About the Red Paladin?” He stares Shiro down, challenging.

“Yes,” Shiro says simply, letting the edge cut a little sharper.

After another moment of consideration, Kolivan dismisses the other Galra with a sharp motion of his hand.

“What is it you want to know?” he says, and Shiro can already see the Blade's exterior hardening, just as uncompromising and harsh as he was hours ago, looking down on Keith's beaten form. Shiro breathes carefully.

“I want you to explain the Trials to me.”

“In what way?” Kolivan asks levelly.

“You said that they were meant to achieve knowledge or death, but I fail to see that in what y—in what happened to Keith. Forgive me for being blunt, but the entirety of the Trials seemed to only offer him the latter.” Kolivan tilts his head in a gesture of concession.

“You are correct, in a way. I assume you would appreciate me being blunt as well?” Shiro frowns, but nods in assent.

“Very well. I will admit that until the moment your friend awoke the blade, I simply anticipated that he would die.” Shiro's hands clench, but he forces himself to hold steady. There seems no possible way to reconcile this statement to the fact that Kolivan is supposedly on their side.

“Understand this: our blades are all but sacred. They are the foundation of our secrecy, and for us, that secrecy means our lives. We would never give up a blade, certainly not to one not of our kind. There was no doubt in our minds that the boy had stolen it, which in turn meant that the one who carried it must be dead—quite possibly by his hand, or by the hand of one close to him.” Despite now knowing that's not the case, Kolivan sneers at the thought. “Had he not come from Voltron, we would have torn him apart upon seeing that blade.”

Shiro grits his teeth, struggling for understanding. “But you didn't.”

“No,” Kolivan says. “Instead we intended to claim what was ours and send you back; we obviously could not ally with Voltron if one of its paladins could be suspected of killing one of our own.”

“So when Keith put up a fight, you entered him into the Trials, certain he would fail and die. But even though Keith passed, I'm still not sure why.”

Kolivan blinks at him as though he's being dense. “He awoke the blade.” Shiro smiles tightly.

“Then tell me what that means. Tell me how these Trials are meant to be when they're not being used in place of execution. What is the reasoning behind them?”

He can see the hesitation plain on Kolivan's face as it goes still and expressionless as the mask he wears; Shiro makes sure the fact that he has a right to the information is plain on his own.

“The Galra,” Kolivan begins slowly, measuring out the information as he gives it, “are by nature an aggressive race. However, we are not a bloodthirsty one. We, much as you humans do, form deep familial and pack bonds, which balance our aggressive urges. We may tend to be overly protective as a result, but we prefer peaceful relations with outsiders in the interest of the pack's safety.”

Though it seems impossible with his tough, yellow-eyed face, he looks wistful for a moment, but then snarls, “Zarkon breaks that balance. He sends handfuls of unrelated Galra from different packs out into the void, and surrounds them with armies of metal. Mates are kept distant, and kits are trained for war apart from their parents.” Kolivan gestures toward his chest, perhaps even toward his heart, and though he maintains his composure flawlessly, his words brim with passion. “It is...a wound. And as the wounded often do, we lash out all the stronger. We lose ourselves in violence. We forget the balance we were made for.”

Shiro still itches for an explanation, but he can't help but ache with sympathy. “I'm sorry for...your people.” Kolivan inclines his head in acceptance before continuing.

“The Blade of Marmora opposes this violence, but we are subject to the same danger; many of us have lost our packs, left behind our mates, either because they cannot fight or because they had kits to keep safe—kits that may very well grow up to fight against us in Zarkon's army. It is necessary that we learn to control our recklessness without relying on our bonds to stabilize us. But to fight our very nature, the Trials are, by your standards, extreme.”

“So,” Shiro prompts carefully, “the goal of the Trials is, in fact, to get them to give up?”

“They must,” Kolivan says. “Victory or death is the thinking of Zarkon, and we must fight him on the same level.”

“Knowledge or death,” Shiro murmurs, still unconvinced.

“They must learn to discipline themselves, rather than let the violence of battle do it for them. The Galra fights until he realizes this, or until he is vanquished. Truly, death is not strictly necessary, but few Galra will stop fighting shy of that point.”

“What about the floor panel? The mindscape?” Shiro demands, the memory of Keith passed out on the floor, twitching in distress, bringing the sharpness back to his voice.

“It is an allowance for intelligence,” Kolivan explains. “Aggression alone is dangerous, but paired with intelligence, the potential damage increases. A clever Galra may very well bend his knee when he realizes the odds are against him, but only because he believes he can circumvent it another way. He has not truly submitted because he believes he has not yet faced a hopeless situation. We reveal this trait by giving them a clever way out; should they take it, we know to challenge them differently.”

Shiro takes a moment to digest this, then asks quietly, “How did you challenge Keith?” He saw the Shiro that had appeared, comforting at first, then cold, rejecting Keith for his choice to keep the knife. But after that, Shiro didn't see what else happened in Keith's mind.

Kolivan stares for a moment too long, then purses his lips. “The mindscape is controlled by the one in it more than by us. It attunes itself to their hopes, shows them something they cherish or desire, then dredges up their fears to threaten those hopes. And the only way to save them is to submit. If they do not, if they continue to struggle, their minds will break. They will die.”

“But Keith didn't,” Shiro insisted. “He woke up. Why didn't his blade awaken then?”

For the first time, Kolivan looks away. “The Red Paladin...was not meant for the Trial. Or,” he amends when Shiro opens his mouth to protest. “I suppose the Trial was not meant for him. It is fortunate that he survived; the loss of his life would have been needless.”

Shiro searches his face for a hint of apology, but finds none. “You regret testing him?” Kolivan hardens again at the word.

“Regret is a luxury in which I do not indulge. I made the best decision with the knowledge I had.” He takes a breath silently, his chest moving deeply up and down. He's calmer when he next speaks. “Your paladin is Galra, which means that he, too, experienced to some degree the imbalance that comes with losing familial bonds. But the difference is he never had any to begin with. It is no wonder, then, that even when he was bested at the very first round of combat, he continued for many vicious bouts. His weak human form meant his injuries were worse than a full-blooded Galra might have sustained, but his separation from stabilizing relations made him reckless enough to continue despite them. Ultimately, that isolation rendered the threat of death useless.”

Everything stills, from the sound in Shiro's ears to the beating of his heart. “What?” he asks breathlessly.

Again, Kolivan looks at him as though he is missing the obvious. “Your paladin was prepared to die. It was not a conscious decision—if it were, he would not still be alive—but I have seen it before; those in pain often do not realize how closely they flirt with death until they are beyond remembering why they live.”

Shiro's head spins, but it's nothing compared to the pain tearing through his heart.

“But...he has us,” he breathes, trying to maintain some level of composure. “He has me.” Kolivan shakes his head.

“I do not know what kind of relationships your paladin has, familial or otherwise, on your planet, but they would have been like drinking water to stave off hunger—satisfying one need, perhaps, but not touching the other: he had no one of his own kind. His Galra kind.”

He gives Shiro scarcely a moment to process this before continuing, “We were shocked when he broke free of the mindscape with his blade yet unawoken. At first, I thought perhaps that it was some kind of human trick, but the fact that his blade awoke only moments after that proves otherwise. I can only offer a theory.”

“And what is that?”

“It could be that what he hopes for is also what he fears. If that were the case, he could have simply retreated from both, and shut down the mindscape.” Kolivan's yellow eyes narrow knowingly at Shiro. “If you want to know for sure, you will have to ask your paladin.”

Shiro nods; he intends to do just that. “Thank you, Kolivan. Perhaps we can learn even more from each other in times of peace.”

Kolivan gives him a slight bow. “Let us hope that time comes just as our plans intend.”

Shiro smiles, then turns, thinking the conversation is over.

“I will say this,” Kolivan calls, giving Shiro pause. “The manner in which the boy woke his blade was truly Galran: forsaking the fight because of his bonds with you and his lion. In light of that, I offer a warning.” Shiro turns, indicating he is listening.

“You would do well to learn more about why the boy lashes out,” Kolivan says gravely. “There is a terrible difference between those who are reckless because they are in pain...and those who are reckless to make the pain stop.” His eyes soften with something Shiro might dare to call sorrow. “For the safety of you friend, hope that it is not the latter.”


	3. Chapter 3

Someone knocks.

 _Shiro,_ Keith's mind supplies instantly. It takes him a long moment to figure out how he knows that.

_Because that's his knock. And he's the only one who would bother with you._

Satisfied with this answer, his consciousness promptly fades out again.

“-eith? Come on, buddy, wake up.”

 _Shiro's voice,_ his brain now says helpfully. _Shiro's hand on your arm. Shiro asking you to get up._

Keith blinks heavily, bringing the Black Paladin's face into focus.

“Hey, Shiro,” he mumbles blearily. “Whaddaya need?” The face morphs into a dry smirk.

“Why do _you_ think I'm here?” Keith sighs, a slow and ill-advised endeavor around broken ribs, and reaches out an arm to start pulling himself upright. Shiro's arm hooks under his torso and helps lift.

“To get me in a pod?” he guesses. Shiro holds something in his other hand: a neatly folded off-white suit.

“To get you in a pod,” he says firmly, wrapping his arm further around Keith and pulling him to his feet. Keith's usual instinct to refuse is gone, though he can't recall why—maybe something to do with why he was on the floor? The ground is tilting back and forth underneath him, and his jerky efforts to adjust his balance send punishing stabs of pain ripping hotly through him. Shiro—somehow standing still with ease—surveys the damage, now fully exposed, with stern sympathy.

“ 's not that bad,” Keith says, and it feels like a reflex. So does the way Shiro's eyebrow climbs skeptically like it has a hundred times before.

“You look like someone took a meat mallet to every inch of you,” he says, somewhere between reprimand and commiseration. “Some of them twice.” That, and a bit of gentle manhandling, gets Keith into the suit.

“Where is everyone?” Keith asks as they make their way through the halls, trying not to lean on Shiro and failing miserably. He has his left arm over the taller paladin's shoulders, and it hurts like the devil every time he puts weight on it, but better his nearly-broken arm than his gouged and nearly-dislocated shoulder. The half-dozen pills he's taken in the last few hours have only taken the sharpest edges off the pain, and his head feels so light and his body is so heavy he'll probably end up on the floor again if Shiro lets go.

“Sleeping,” Shiro answers the question Keith had almost forgotten he asked. “Or at least 'confined' to their rooms for that purpose. Allura and I decided it was necessary we all get some rest, and you know most of them won't unless we make it mandatory.” Keith is distantly relieved; the reasons he doesn't want the others to see him are buzzing just out of reach, but he's pretty sure they're good ones.

Shiro sets him down on the floor so he can lean against the control panel as he summons a pod. Keith eyes it dubiously as it rises from the floor, and says quietly, “You sure it'll work on me?”

Shiro's frowning in concentration as he presses more buttons. “Of course it will. It will recognize and adjust to your biology first.”

“Even Galra biology?” Keith says, just above a whisper. Why would an Altean pod bother? Maybe it'll flash red [Enemy Detected] and freeze him in permanent stasis—or just gas him immediately. _Quiznack_ , his head hurts.

Keith starts when Shiro's arm is suddenly about his waist, hoisting him back up. When did he come over? When did Keith let his eyes shut? Why is Shiro all blurry again?

“It recognized me and my Galra arm no problem,” Shiro reassures him, and Keith can imagine the kind look on his face even though he can't quite make it out. “If my Altean-to-Earth conversions are right, it should have you fixed up in a few hours.” Keith pouts as he enters the machine.

“Aren't there, like, I dunno, levels on this thing? I don't mind a few bumps, I just need my ribs fixed, maybe my head--”

“You do realize,” the taller paladin interrupts. “That when I turn this thing on, it's going to tell me _all_ about _every one_ of your injuries?” He smirks, half amused and half exasperated, when Keith looks away, radiating guilt. “I'll be here when you get out.”

Keith smiles faintly, which, coincidentally, is about how well he's seeing Shiro now. His vision fades to black a moment before a cold rush hits him and the rest of his senses fade as well.

________________________________________________________________________

He dreams.

He dreams that he is split in two. Half of him is a boy, wandering through different places in his memory. Everything looks too flat and simple, like he's about to walk into a poorly-drawn backdrop for a play. He's sad. He's alone. It hurts.

The other half of him looks down on his wandering figure with distain. He's a voice from the heavens calling down judgement. He's powerful. He's dangerous. It feels good.

The boy is standing in his old shack again. The curtains don't move. Through the window, he can see a buzzard paused in mid-flight. He opens his mouth.

“Mother?” he says, testing to see how the familiar word feels unfamiliar on his tongue, how it sounds in this room.

_She's gone. She's dead. She didn't want you. She's the enemy._

He's in the Garrison, waiting for a turn in the flight simulator, except no one's in front of him. Or behind him. There's no one at all. “Shiro?” he calls plaintively.

_You're all alone without him. You need him to come back. He's not going to._

He's in the Castle hangar. Red is beside him, but she's lifeless as a stage prop. The Black Lion looms in front of him, similarly dead, and seems on the verge of toppling forward and crushing him.

 _Shiro will regret placing his faith in you._ _He'll leave you again, and you'll fail again. Fail the whole universe._

He's surrounded by Allura, Coran, and the other Paladins. He reaches out, trying to touch them, but they're only painted on the walls. His hand brushes Lance and Pidge and smears right through them; a bright red stain starts to spread from the marred paint.

 _Don't touch!_ _You don't know how. You're too afraid to do anything but ruin._

He's in a room with ten masked Galra warriors staring him down, all too real.

_Let them hurt you. Pain doesn't matter as long as it's yours._

He's facing a door, his father is at his back, and he can't turn to say one last good-bye.

_Run away, monster. Run away from what you are._

Shiro's walking away.

“You've _chosen_ to be alone.”

Zarkon sneers at him.

“You fight like a Galra soldier.”

“Knowledge or death.”

“Patience yields focus.”

_Desperation yields destruction._


	4. Chapter 4

Shiro wakes easily when the pod hisses open, gratefully noting the decent amount of sleep he's managed to get even just propped up against a wall. He stands, eyes on Keith, who's tottering out of the pod as though befuddled by the new strength in his legs and sudden lack of pain. He looks up at Shiro, and his face is confused...and wet. He's been crying.

Shiro steps faster.

Keith shies as Shiro spreads his arms, ready to intercept him if he bolts. He knows too well that the teen has never felt safe with his own emotions—too much intensity, too little control—and he'll flee to his room to wait out the storm alone if Shiro doesn't stop him.

His arms wrap securely around the smaller paladin. Keith squirms for a moment— _You can go, I'm okay, I don't want to hurt you—_ but his resistance crumbles in an instant, and he grabs Shiro back, melting into the touch that Shiro knows he craves but never asks for.

They stand like that for a while, Shiro's hand cupping the back of Keith's head, which is buried in his shoulder, as the boy tries to smooth his choppy breathing. When he thinks Keith is on the verge of pulling away, apologizing and berating himself for his outburst before making his escape, he drops his hands and settles them loosely at Keith's waist.

“Talk to me,” he says. It's almost an order; he can't let Keith think he's being pitied. Keith draws back as far as Shiro's grasp will let him, wrapping his arms around himself instead.

“I'm so selfish,” he whispers, head down. His fingers clench, claw-like, on his arms. “I'm just so _selfish,_ ” he hisses fiercely, that familiar anger of his burning in his voice, directed inward.

Shiro releases him. “Why are you selfish?” he asks evenly.

“I only think about what _I_ want,” Keith says with deep shame. “I wanted you to stay on Earth. I wanted to fight Zarkon so you wouldn't have to. I wanted to belong somewhere for once. I wanted to know who, _what_ I was. I wanted--” He stops, then whispers, “I wanted to know what's _wrong_ with me...”

Shiro places his flesh hand on Keith's shoulder, not sure what to say. He wants to assure Keith, as he always has, that his mistakes do not mean that there is anything inherently wrong with him, but Kolivan's words are still in his ears. The truth is, there _was_ something wrong with Keith: his Galra nature, crying out for connection and lashing out in loneliness. What's worse, his human half was just as deprived, trapped in a cycle of fear, rejection, and withdrawal. Shiro has to fight back his own anxiety that Keith will never escape this punishing loop.

“I should have given up sooner,” Keith says. “I-I meant what I said about being a Paladin. I don't know why I didn't just _stop,_ but I...I _needed_ to know.”

“Keith,” Shiro says, forcing him to look up. “You know that the Shiro you saw wasn't me, don't you?”

Keith blinks in surprise. “Yeah, I knew when I woke up, but...” Shiro can hear what he leaves unsaid: _I didn't think it mattered._

“I don't agree with what he said,” Shiro says firmly. “That you only think of yourself. You fight hard, even to the point of reckless, for all the paladins, for Allura and Coran, and for the rest of the universe _._ Everyone wants to know who they are and where they belong. They're allowed. So are you.”

He can see disbelief shutting Keith down.

“But I ruin things,” Keith mutters. “It's not worth the trouble I cause by trying. Look at what I did this time: endangered our alliance with the only people on our side, and for what? To learn that I'm the enemy, a hybrid—that I belong even less than I already did.”

“You're right that it caused trouble, but better to have it in the open now.” Keith looks up at him quizzically. “I spoke to Kolivan,” Shiro explains. “Before they knew you were Galra, they had to assume that you had taken the blade from one of their own after he or she was killed. Had you kept it secret from them, it might have gone even worse; they might have killed you instead.”

“I see,” Keith says quietly. Coming from Keith, the easy assent confuses Shiro. There's no bitterness, no hint of lingering outrage toward their new allies, as though wanting him dead is easily forgivable. Shiro frowns, aching inside.

“Kolivan told me something about you,” Shiro says softly. Keith jerks back, that old suspicion rising in his eyes, and Shiro's hand slips from his shoulder. “You don't have to tell me if he's right,” Shiro assures him. “But he told me that Galra are a lot like humans in that they require relationships. He said that the hurt of spending all your life without ever bonding with another Galra explained why you refused to give up during the trial. He said that...you were ready to die.”

“No!” Keith says quickly. “No, I couldn't—I would never leave all of you like that!”

“The way I left you?” Keith's mouth works for a moment.

“That...that wasn't your fault--”

“But it hurt you, didn't it?”

Keith's face breaks, and Shiro can already tell how frustrated he is at himself for not controlling it. And, as it always does, his anger burns through the cracks in an effort to destroy any other emotion.

“Fine, it did,” Keith spits. “It hurt. It also hurt when I realized I didn't have a mom, or when I lost my dad, or when they told me you were never coming back. But what's it matter, _Shiro_? What do those blips on the radar have on an _entire life_ of not belonging?” Keith scoffs loudly. “I always thought I was defective as a person, and I've finally found my glitch—I'm a whole other _species_! What do you think the chances are I'll connect with the Galra either? At least I _look_ human.” He pauses for a moment, huffing, before swallowing and saying in a fierce but lower voice, “I wouldn't do that, Shiro. Being alone is not new to me. I can take it. I wouldn't try to die.”

Shiro wants to smile in relief, maybe hug Keith again and send him off to bed, conversation over. He doesn't want to say the next words to come out of his mouth:

“But would you mind to?”

Keith makes almost the exact same face—broken, affronted, angry—but this time, the denial sticks in his throat. He looks shocked at himself.

_Those in pain often do not realize how closely they flirt with death._

“Your blade,” Shiro says. “It woke only when you saw me fighting, and when you thought Red was endangering the alliance. The thought of giving it up never even crossed your mind when you knew you could die, yet you surrendered it the second you thought others were at risk. That makes you very selfless...but...” He presses his hand over his heart. “It also makes me very, _very_ concerned.”

“I...I...” Keith almost appears to shrink, so visible is his desire to be anywhere but here. Shiro can already see shame resurfacing in the boy's eyes.

There were many times he regretted taking the Kerberos mission—most of them screaming out in the midst of his captivity, some of them woven into the moments he flashes back or when he wakes up to a cold metal limb against his skin. But the regret he feels now, knowing that, instead of being the first solid ground in Keith's life, he became yet another reason Keith struggles to keep his head above water... He doesn't blame himself for leaving, but he loathes everything that kept him from coming back. And now Keith is a soldier in an interstellar war, his emotional wounds overshadowed by the constant threat of physical ones, and Shiro fears that one or both of them won't make it back to a place where healing can be coaxed out.

Keith may not even believe that place exists anymore.

Shiro sighs, gently tucking away those fears for another time when Keith is less fragile.

“What did you see in the mindscape?” Keith cocks his head timidly at the subject change.

“I thought you saw...”

“I saw the vision of me, but not what came after. Kolivan and I both want to know how you managed to escape the illusion without waking your blade.”

Keith furrows his brow in confusion, then sighs. “I saw my Dad. He was in our house in the desert, where I used to live. He talked about my mom, said she gave him the knife, and that she was going to be there soon and would explain everything. But Zarkon...his armies were outside. They were attacking Earth, and Red was calling for me. I tried to get my dad to explain but he wouldn't, and he told me I couldn't go or...I wouldn't ever know who I was.”

“But you left, didn't you?”

Keith nods, then shrugs. “Don't know what that's supposed to mean, though.”

Shiro does—at least, he thinks he does. The mindscape didn't offer Keith a scenario that would force him to submit or die. Instead, it offered him a cruel dilemma: let down the world, or chose to be alone.

Exactly what his vision of Shiro had accused him of.

Because that's what Keith both hoped for and feared: connection. His father was one of the first who taught Keith to get ready to get hurt when people were close. For _him_ to offer Keith connection with his mother and answers to his question...Keith would have been at once desperate for a chance at what he never had and terrified of what kind of new pain it might bring with it. The fact that his fear had not forced him to retreat spoke to the severity of his need.

But to think that he retreated from the decision because of Red, a symbol of his courage and loyalty and all the best qualities that Shiro recognized in him...

Shiro takes Keith by both shoulders this time, so he's looking at him straight on.

“I'm proud of you,” he says, lending every ounce of weight and certainty to his words that he can because for heaven's sake Keith needs it. “I'm _proud._ You were hurt and confused, and the Blades were happy to hurt and confuse you further. You fought a battle you couldn't win and faced a decision where you could only lose. But you're missing what's important: that you _proved_ yourself. Worthy of the blade, worthy of being a paladin. You proved that you haven't given up on caring for others, or on them caring for you.” He fondly cups one hand on the side of Keith's head. “I just wish you'd care for _yourself_ a little more.”

Keith ducks his head with just a twitch of a smile. “You used to say that back on Earth all the time.” Shiro grins back.

“Like when you spent basically a week straight crashing your hoverbike? Honestly, Keith, it was a _bike,_ not a plane. What was so important about mastering driving it off cliffs?” Keith's smile grows wider, warmer.

“ _You_ did it first. Thought it would be a useful maneuver,” he says softly. “Turned out it was.”

“Yeah, well aside from almost killing yourself you also kept staying up all night to fix it. The amount of caffeine you ingested was unholy. Speaking of, I bet you haven't eaten yet today, have you?”

“I-...no,” he says sheepishly.

“Well, you've got at least another three hours before you and Hunk head out, so I expect you to be well fed by then, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Keith says smartly, and Shiro just rolls his eyes.

“See you in the hangar,” he says, then slowly turns and heads for his room once he's sure Keith is headed for the mess.

He knows this isn't over. He's had plenty of talks like this with Keith, some ending in tears, others in awkward mutual silence, still others in shouting and storming off before eventual reconciliation. Not one of them ever took away Keith's temper, or curbed his reckless, often self-destructive urges, or healed the abiding ache Shiro saw too often in his violet eyes when the teen thought no one was looking. And this one wouldn't change the way Keith's heart was like a bone broken in a half-dozen places, trying to heal into a shape it doesn't remember having.

But Shiro has hope that Keith's connection with the other paladins will mature, and faith that Allura will prove to be stronger than her prejudices. Keith _can_ heal. Keith can grow. And when he does, he'll be a marvelous leader, and an even better man.

Shiro can't wait to see it someday.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know your thoughts.


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